I step into the line behind the lanky man with the dress shirt. He’s inconspicuous enough, queuing for coffee like us common folk.
Wyatt Ross. Heir to a large shipping company whose owners recently moved to the city, taking their son with them. A company that promptly started importing a wide variety of exotic herbs that seem to vanish off the face of the Earth as soon as they arrive. A company that keeps purchasing goats that disappear without ever entering a slaughterhouse.
He’s next up, exchanging money for a steaming cup of coffee. As he turns to head off, I walk into his path, eyes glued to my phone as a pretext. It’s a nice and convincing collision. His coffee sloshes out of the cup, spraying onto both of our shirts. Perfection.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I should’ve looked where I was going.”
I put away the phone to begin fussing over my ‘mistake’.
“Don’t worry, I—“
The man freezes, before grimacing. Did I mess up?
“It’s alright, really,” he then adds, forcing a smile.
“No, this is all my fault. I’m so clumsy sometimes.”
I chuckle, pulling out tissues to dab at the coffee staining his shirt.
“At least let me buy you another coffee. Do you live far from here? We could go buy a new shirt if you don’t have anything to change into. I’d feel awful if I made you run around with stains all day.”
The man takes a step pack, holding up his hands to keep me at a distance.
“Actually, it’s no issue. I, uh… I can change. I’m fine.”
Why does he have to make this so difficult? Behind us, the line is growing. I turn to the barista.
“Could I have whatever he was having and a black coffee to go, please?”
The lady nods, preparing the drinks as Wyatt thankfully stays put, typing away on his phone. I hand him his new coffee.
“Here, this is the least I can do. Although I still feel awful for ruining your shirt.”
“Thanks.” Wyatt takes the coffee, eyeing his phone once more before pocketing it. “And you shouldn’t feel bad. It’ll wash out, and I can change into something clean for the rest of the day, no issue.”
Maybe he’s finally warming up. Anyone would be a bit flustered upon getting hot coffee spilled onto them.
“I’m Lisa, by the way.” I offer my hand for him to shake, and he takes it.
“Wyatt.” Still a bit brusque, but I can work with that.
“Listen, maybe I could invite you to a proper coffee some time?” In less than half an hour, he’ll disappear into a huge office building and out of my reach. Optimally, I’ll have something set up before that. If I mess up this chance, I doubt I’ll get many more before he takes me for a stalker.
“Oh, uh…”
“To make up for bumping into you,” I add hastily. “And, well, maybe just to have coffee? You know that little cafe down the street? The one with all the flowers in front?”
I smile at him. Maybe a good old charming strategy is in order.
To my surprise, Wyatt nods.
“Yes. I… that sounds lovely.”
Did I come on too strongly? There’s no way for him to know I’m an investigative journalist who’s onto his parents’ shady dealings, so…
“How about later today? I get off work at five, so we could meet some time after that.”
That’s a blatant lie, but it also happens to coincide with the time he usually leaves his office.
“Huh, we seem to have the same schedule, then.”
He’s too suspicious, which probably means he’s in on his parents’ dealings.
“Cool! So will I see you after five?”
I offer him a bright and expectant smile. If this works, I may get access to something huge.
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”
His delivery is still a bit stiff, but maybe he’s just socially awkward. Depending on what exactly his parents’ business is, he may have had an odd childhood.
He waves at me before heading off. Optimally, we could have talked a bit longer to ensure that he’d be comfortable going out for coffee with me later today, but it is what it is.
I take a sip of my own coffee and head off to a nearby park to bide my time.
Wyatt arrives in a fresh shirt. It’s white, like his previous one. He surveys the cafe for a moment before spotting me and heading over to my table.
“Glad you could make it. I wasn’t sure if you really wanted to see the person who ruined your shirt.”
Wyatt scratches the back of his head at that. “I already told you it wasn’t ruined.”
Oh, but I need to milk this situation for all its worth, my friend.
A waiter is at our table as soon as Wyatt sits down. “Hello, do you already know what you’d like to drink?”
“Yes, actually. I’d like a cappuccino and my friend here wants a latte macchiato.”
I answer before Wyatt can open his mouth. Wait.
Why did I…?
The waiter jots down the order and heads off. Wyatt tilts his head in confusion.
“I mean, this is probably what I would have ordered, but how did you…?” He trails off.
However…while I’ve done my research on this man, I never bothered looking into his coffee preferences. Why would I? Ordering for him like this would be a silly way to give away that I’ve been following him around for a while.
So why…?
“I have no clue what came over me.”
It’s the honest truth. Whatever happened, it was like a weird sense of deja vu. Maybe my own bewilderment is what calms him in the end, because he relaxes.
“Huh, well, color me impressed.”
Actually, this may be my chance.
“You know, I do like to read magazines about this kind of stuff. Like, clairvoyance and such.”
If his family keeps spiriting away goats, then maybe this subject will pique his interest.
“Is that so?” A brief smile twitches across his face. At least I’ve defused the situation for now.
“Yes. I don’t know why, but there’s just something fascinating about all this occult stuff. Like, sure, it’s impossible, but why do so many people claim that something strange has happened to them?”
Wyatt’s smile is uncomfortable. Maybe this wasn’t quite it.
“Hm…they do say ‘be careful what you wish for’,” he says with a shrug. “Today you’re divining my coffee preferences, maybe tomorrow you’ll be assaulted by everyone’s deepest secrets.”
The waiter returns with our drinks. I quickly grab mine to buy some time by taking a sip.
“Maybe…”
What I wish for isn’t literal magic, though. It’s a good story of rich people doing strange things that my readers will lap up.
“I loved fantasy books as a child, so now that I’m an adult, I guess stories of the supernatural keep me entertained instead?”
For a moment, Wyatt eyes me with an unreadable look. Then, it’s gone and he grabs for his own coffee.
“Perhaps.” He shrugs.
“So, after airing out my embarrassing hobbies, what about you?”
Most people enjoy talking about their interests. If I want to get closer to this guy, I need to figure out what he’s into, so I’ll be better prepared for a second date.
That is, if I do well enough during this one to ever see him again.
“Oh, uh…well, I guess my life is sort of boring.”
I’m sure it is, Mr. Secret Goat Cult Heir.
I lean back in my chair with a grin. “I’m sure there’s something fascinating you have to share.”
There has to be.
After our first dinner at his home, Wyatt leads me up an extravagant staircase and to his private quarters. To think it would only take me three dates to get this far…
Crossing their lobby, I feel a bit like a princess in a movie. These people are too rich for their own good. Of course they’d have to be mixed up in something.
When Wyatt opens the door to his room, inviting me in, I pause.
This room…it’s oddly familiar.
But there’s no way I’ve been here before. I would remember a mansion as ridiculous as this one.
“Everything alright?” Wyatt raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t seem too concerned.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
It’s a bit like when I suddenly knew what type of coffee he liked…
Maybe this is because of subconscious stress from investigating a high profile case such as this.
His room is clean and large, filled with expensive-looking furniture. Large windows on one side oversee a sprawling garden.
“Oh, actually, I had cake!” Wyatt rubs the back of his head. “Give me a moment while I grab it so we can eat it.”
Cake? After we just had a lavish dinner?
Wyatt is gone in an instant, leaving me alone in his room. I never would have dreamed I’d get such a chance this soon.
Where to start?
I glance across a bookshelf lining one of the walls. It’s filled with a variety of books. Fiction, non-fiction…
And then there’s “Advanced Channeling”, “Fire Spells Without Desolation”, “Runeless Casting for Beginners”…they just keep going. I pull out a book and flip through the pages. It’s a manual on how to perform magic.
I’ve stumbled upon people who honestly believe they’re part of a magical cult.
This story will be huge.
I put the book back where I found it, taking a picture of the titles with my phone and uploading it into the cloud for safekeeping before moving on. While I’ve already hit the jackpot, maybe there’s more to find.
Filled with new vigor, I pull a desk drawer open, revealing boring stationary inside. The next one, however, holds a large dagger, intricately carved runes adorning the hilt, and polished to a shine. I stop myself before I can touch it. Better not to leave any fingerprints on this thing.
Is this what they use to kill all those goats they keep buying? Do they slaughter them in some ritual? How do they get rid of all the evidence?
“Ah, so the cat’s out of the bag.”
I whip around. Wyatt has somehow snuck up on me while I was distracted by my find. I haven’t even had time to take a picture of the dagger yet!
“I…”
It’s not like I can deny what I was doing. With the desk drawer open and the dagger on full display, I’ve been caught red-handed.
“Didn’t you say you were getting cake?”
He didn’t bring any with him.
Wyatt cards through his hair with his hand, sighing.
“I was giving you an excuse to snoop around. Which, I guess you did.”
He what?
How did he know?
“Don’t look so shocked. It wasn’t exactly difficult to find out that you’re a journalist.”
He closes his eyes, shaking his head as if he’s disappointed with me. After he set me up like this.
“You know, the first time you told me you were into the occult, I was kind of excited.”
Where is he going with this?
“You want to know all our secrets, right?”
More than anything else. I nod as my mouth refuses to produce a sound.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
Wyatt grabs my arm. “Stick close to me, alright?”
Huh? What’s this ab—
A horrible tearing sound rips through the air as reality splits apart in front of my eyes. I want to scream as Wyatt pulls me forward.
Did he spike my drink at dinner? It all feels so real.
I struggle to free myself, but Wyatt is far too strong. He effortlessly drags me into the strange tear. My stomach twists. Where are we? What is going on?
Around us, space has ceased to exist. How can this be? What did he give me?
Then, it stops.
I retch, fighting to keep my dinner down.
“Sorry, first time’s always a bit uncomfortable,” Wyatt chuckles, finally letting go of my arm.
I waver. What was this?
What is this?
Where are we?
We’re no longer in his room. That much is certain.
“Wyatt…”
We’re in an office lined with tall bookshelves. In front of us, a man sits behind a desk, eyeing us with a smirk. He’s wearing a black robe over his clothes. I’ve found the cult I was looking for, but at what cost?
“Good job, Wyatt.” With that, the man gets up, stepping around the desk and towards us. I want to back up, but my feet won’t move.
“Thank you, Sir.”
How is this possible?
We were in Wyatt’s room, and now… Am I losing time?
“Lisa Amsel. The dog that finally caught the car. You don’t look so well.” The man’s smirk widens into a shark-like grin.
“What did you do to me?” I brace myself. While there’s no obvious way out of this situation, showing weakness would certainly be a mistake.
“We invited you to our headquarters. That’s what you wanted, no?”
I… yes. Sure. I wanted to unveil the shady dealings behind ‘Ross Shipping and Delivery’. I wanted to bare the cult hiding behind the facade.
Except… Not like this.
“Cat got your tongue? Ever read ‘The Monkey’s Paw’, Lisa?”
Not exactly, but everyone knows the story, don’t they? Whatever he’s implying with this, it can’t be good.
“Now, Wyatt. I believe Ms. Amsel has displayed interest in joining our little cult, hasn’t she?”
It’s all a game to them.
“Yes, Sir.” Wyatt nods seriously.
My mouth has dried up, making it difficult to cut in.
“Normally, we don’t just let random unenlightened people take the oath, you know?”
This is the real deal. It’s my fault for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.
“The first time you came on to Wyatt, we took a bit to figure out what you were up to, but we thought it would be over after wiping your memories.”
Wiping my mem—
“But you had to come back and make the poor guy go through all of it again. You’d think that after we had our professional clean your hard drive and phone, the second mind wipe would have done the trick.”
Second…?
“But here you are. Forever stalking my poor subordinate.”
He’s crazy. They’re all insane. I finally manage to take a step back.
“You’ve shown your resourcefulness and cunning, and no matter how hard we try, you keep coming back. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned your spot.”
Suddenly, he’s all serious.
After a few more steps backward, I bump into a wall. Can I make it out the door before they catch me? What if I can’t find the way out of this place fast enough?
“Due to your tenaciousness, I’ll leave the choice to you. You can become like us by making a pact with our glorious patron, the Devourer, or” — his eyes wander over to the door and there’s a faint ‘click’ — ”we will take more permanent actions to stop this from happening.”
Did he just lock the door? How?
I must still be under the influence of whatever drug Wyatt fed me.
How do I get out of this?
I may have no other choice but to play along for now.
I was unable to refuse the cookies that yet another member of their strange cult offered me. Probably more drugs.
At least I remember our entire trip out into this forest, where they claim I’ll make a pact to bind myself to some ‘eldritch creature’. And in return, they say, I’ll get magic powers.
How could I let things get this far?
More cultists have shown up to take part in my initiation. Most have ignored me, while others are glaring daggers. I can’t blame them. I want this to happen as little as they do. Still, I keep up the pretense. Who knows what these people are capable of if I reject them?
Once I’ve taken this oath, they may let me go and I can expose it all.
The murmurs quiet down as a single figure steps up to me. The others surround me in a tight circle, and I take a deep breath to calm myself. Out in this dark forest at night, the occult suddenly feels much less impossible.
“Artur seems quite amused with you,” the lone figure in front of me comments. Red curls spill out from under her hood. “While I do not condone silly games, he deems you a potential asset, so I shall allow him his whims.”
A cruel smile plays across her lips.
“Welcome, everyone, to this most sacred occasion,” she raises her voice to address the others. “Today, we shall receive a new acolyte. For better or worse. Now, get on your knees.”
They’re making fun of me. This is all a big joke to them, isn’t it?
I obey regardless. For now, I’m at their mercy.
“Lisa Amsel, you have come before us today to swear an oath to the eldritch entity known to us humans as the Devourer.”
Somewhere to my left, a goat bleats.
“Through this ritual, you will seal your pact not with me but through me. Do you swear allegiance to the Eldritch Being identified as the Devourer in our plane through me, its chosen emissary?”
She pauses and I swallow hard. Why is this ridiculous ritual taking such a toll on me?
I should rejoice at this inside scoop on their rituals and beliefs.
“Yes.”
Keep playing along. Don’t upset them.
“And do you swear through extension…”
The woman keeps going, but her words grow faint. It’s a panic attack. I’m having a panic attack.
I need to focus.
When she stops, I hesitate. Am I supposed to say something again? She pulls up an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
I try to keep my voice firm. Let’s hope that’s what she wanted to hear.
She keeps going. Every time she pauses, I croak out another soft ‘yes’, until it’s over.
Finally, she offers me an ornate cup, lined with glowing runes. This thing must have been expensive to manufacture.
More drugs?
Without much choice, I drink and my vision goes dark.
This was a mistake. The moment my mind is flung from my body, the horrible truth comes crashing down on me.
It’s all real. What I’m feeling…how could a drug do this?
There’s something out there. Something so large, I’d shatter were I to gaze upon it. Something so foreign, my mind balks at its proximity.
I’m being watched. Judged.
I’m not investigating rich weirdos with strange fetishes.
I am being inducted into an eldritch cult.
NotHack Europa 